open the front door:

the dusty bells jingle to no one someone’s here

step over the yellow-bound newspaper, forgotten on the vinyl floor

stale pipe smoke mingles with the memory of Christmas stew

walk into Grandpa's study
sit in the black leather chair and spin while a dense afternoon shines

through slits in the heavy green curtains,

spotlighting your arms and shirt

watch dust collect on the black TV screen and its wooden frame

on the caricature of Grandpa before you knew him:

watering balsam firs, pipe in hand, grinning

go slowly past the hallway mirror to the pink cinnamon bathroom
find Grandma's fuchsia lipstick

open it
twist it
dab it like she did, her hand steadying your chin
press your mouth closed and taste its wax perfume

walk through the hot kitchen

into the dining room with her gold hanging light

glass shoes line the window

dated in spring green, mustard, and burnt orange,

hazy through pipe smoke and dust

plastic candle lights on the sill glow red above

purple-gray bookcase angels

who smile shyly at wallpaper flowers

open the basement door

let your feet creak the carpeted stairs

past the laundry room

until you stand facing the piano
in a lingering cloud of vanilla tobacco and musk
watch the yellowing ivory sink and rise
remembering the rolling refrain his dry hands once played

find the exercise bike

ignore the broken speedometer
reach for the dusty cardboard box beneath you and
dig through fifty years of memories:

scuffed tin pictures of faces that resemble your own

a mother’s day card from your aunt, age six

a bookmark of Footprints

choose a wooden wall hanging painted night-blue:

baby Jesus smiling under

a smoke-swaddled moon